Page 95 of Wallflower
I step aside as Violet slides the key into the silver lock, and a rush of contentment swamps me at the sound of the mechanism clicking open. Violet gives me a questioning look, and at my nod, she pushes the door open and steps inside.
It smells like paint and building materials, but my designer has created an incredible space. The size is modest but sufficient, with high ceilings and pale wooden floors making it appear larger than it is. The vibe is rich, sophisticated, and understated, with white walls and dark-veined marble surfaces. Aside from the dresses in the window, the shop is empty, andViolet circles the room with reverent silence, passing a fitting area with two private changing spaces and a simple round dais before arriving at a set of closed double doors painted black to match the front.
She gives me a puzzled look, lips twitching with a smile. “What’s behind here?”
I shrug. “Open it.”
She does, and the head shaking and gasping starts all over again as I follow her into her new design studio.
There’s an oversized designer’s desk in the middle of the space, illuminated by the task lighting above and stocked with papers and pencils and everything a designer might need. There’s a small sofa and coffee table in one corner, a sewing station and dressmaker’s dummy in the other, and a surround sound system is installed for her music when she doesn’t want to listen with her headphones.
And every inch of the walls is covered with the gray felt-covered boards that used to be in her bedroom.
“I had my interior designer take care of this personally,” I assure Violet in a rush. “She took pictures of everything and confirmed they’re all exactly as they were in your room. And I spoke to your dad about it—to make sure I wasn’t overstepping. He helped with the move and insisted on installing everything here himself. Wouldn’t let anyone touch it and spent days working with the team to get everything just right. He wanted to be a part of this, too.”
Violet isn’t trying to hide her tears anymore. She moves to the closest board and runs her hands over a swatch of fabrics, then the lines of the sketch next to it. “Chord, this is too much.”
“It’s not,” I disagree with a lump in my throat. “It’s not too much. It’s nowhere near enough.” I move closer, take her shoulders, and turn her to face me. Her red-rimmed eyes shine with joy and disbelief, and my heart takes off like a bolting horse.
“Violet, I love you. I want to build a life with you and make all your dreams come true. This is it. This is—”
Violet’s phone rings suddenly and loudly, making us both jump. She gives me a watery chuckle and slides it out of her pocket, checking the screen and rejecting the call when she doesn’t recognize the number.
I coast my palms over her arms and lick my lips, the interruption to my speech making me suddenly nervous. The studio is only the first surprise I have for her today, and even though the studio reveal has gone well, the next gift is bigger. For her. For me. For us.
“There’s no reason why we need to rush out of here, but thereisone more thing I—”
Violet’s phone rings again, and she drags it out and checks the screen.
“It’s the same number.” She grimaces apologetically. “Maybe I should answer in case it’s important?”
“Sure.” I take a step back and don’t let my impatience show. “No problem.”
She flashes me a quick smile, then holds the phone to her ear. “Hello? Yes, this is Violet James.”
I watch to see if I can work out who’s on the other end of the line, but any hope that this will be quick fades as Violet bows her head and frowns with concentration.
“Yes, I’m—” Something catches in her voice, and she clears her throat. “Yes, I’m familiar with his work.”
She sounds anxious, and it makes me stand taller.
“Okay,” she says. “All right. No, that’s… That’s wonderful. I’m… Well, I’m a little lost for words.”
Another pause.
“My email address? Of course.”
Violet recites her contact information, then offers her thanks to whoever is on the phone. She ends the call, her face a littlepale and her expression stunned as she stares at the blank screen.
Foreboding sits like a pit in my gut. “Is something wrong?”
She rubs her mouth and shakes her head. “Um, no. Not exactly. That was an assistant for Leonardo Bellucci.”
My brows shoot up. “The fashion designer?”
She laughs lightly like she can’t believe it either. “Yes, the fashion designer. He— They—” Violet regards me with bright, almost frightened eyes. “Someone on their design team saw the article this morning. They love the dress I designed for the gala, and they want to snap me up before anyone else gets a chance. I can’t believe it. They’ve offered me ajob.”
Blood roars in my ears. This studio suddenly feels too small, and my voice sounds distant when I say, “A job? That’s… I mean, that’s fantastic. You have to take it.”
